Sixteen Candles
05-16-2013, 07:31 PM
Adrenaline. Power. Speed. Out of breath. The King's sides heaved as he pushed himself onward, onward after this lone ranger streaking through his home. The curves and turns she'd made were indicators that she was not simply passing through. This was not good. There came a great growl from the tri-colored man's cavernous chest, echoing out breathy and deep. She needed to stop at once. He thought to call out for some assistance, Elphaba, Bronze, Cynrik, anyone who might help him - but was too out of breath to do so. A growl was guttural, a howl was far too winded to even attempt at this breakneck speed. His tail flagged out behind him like a banner, limbs stretching out and snapping back like rubber bands. All four paws moved in harmony - but not in unison, much like a stallion in full canter. Had he worn shoes like those great stallions, each beat would have drummed as loudly as his heart did in his ears. What the King had not expected - but might have had his brain been receiving the proper amount of oxygen - was that as soon as she heard his battle cry she would have logically stopped on a dime. And stop she did. The dame came to a screeching halt, one that could not possibly have been rivaled by any other creature that a wolf could possibly lay eyes upon. The King, unfortunately, was not that trained in the art of ceasing such powerful motion. Limbs would not cooperate as quickly as his synapses fired, leaving him stopping just a fraction of a second too late. He came to a skidding stop, toppling head over heels into the dame - sending their bodies god knows where. He had felt flesh on flesh once, but now felt only the hard, uninviting earth beneath his frame. The man groaned, every inch of his body aching from the sudden stop. In a flurry of pained motion he was on his feet again, drawing up his lips and laying flat his ears. Hackles raised as the fur that lined his spine inched upward. Tail whipped behind him as he struggled for breath - a silent snarl gleaming on his face. "What - in the name - of glory - do you - think you're - doing!?" came the breathy lyrics of the monarch. "Speech" |
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